One Day in the Light
by Quiet2885
Summary: One week before the events of Hannibal, Erik is given one day in the light with his Angel. One day as a normal man. What will be revealed? What must he give in return? ALW Stage and Kay based. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**This fic was purely a product of my muse. It's not very long and is a bit quickly paced. Likely all of the chapters in it will be up within three days. For those of you reading _A Summer's Resolution_, don't worry. I just needed a bit of a break, but I have most certainly not abandoned it.**

**Summary: What if, one week before the events of _Hannibal_, Erik was granted one day of happiness, one day in the light with his Angel? It's mostly a mixture of Susan Kay and AWL's stage production. It's fairly fluffy and my Erik is much less dark than I usually write him; however still heed the angst warning. Finally, I realize this theme has probably been done before, but I hope this comes out differently.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. _The Phantom of the Opera _belong to Gaston Leroux. Many of the themes belong to Andrew Lloyd Webber and Susan Kay. **

Had there ever been a time in his wretched life worth living, it was during these surreal moments when he sat gazing at her through the mirror. He watched as she smoothly stroked the brush through her thick mass of chocolate curls. He watched as she daintily pinched her cheeks, attempting to place a little color into her snow white skin. He watched as she propped her head up in her hand on the dressing table, daydreaming to herself of times long past. The barrier between them was ever so thin, just a sheet of glass that separated night from day. At the same time, he knew, they were worlds apart.

On this particular evening, she was gathering up her scanty chorus girl costume from _Hannibal_, preparing to go home for the night. Picking up the skirt and ballet shoes into her tiny hands, she let out a soft groan as one of the slippers fell out of her grasp and onto the floor. With a sigh, she bent down and retrieved it. He now noticed that her eyes had dark rings around them and that her shoulders seemed to slump more than usual. Perhaps between their lessons and rehearsals for the upcoming opera, she was being worked too strenuously.

It had been his original intent to leave her alone for the night without a word from her Angel, but, now seeing her in all of her splendor, he could not resist speaking to her. Her sweet voice was like a powerful drug, and he needed to hear it tonight to soothe his mind. "Your singing has been improving immensely in these last several lessons, Christine," his haunting voice sounded throughout the little dressing room. "I am very pleased." A feeling of bliss went through him when her face lit up at the sound of her Angel of Music.

"Angel," she whispered, immediately setting her items down and looking up to the sky. "Thank you. Your kind words mean everything to me."

"I only grant praise where it is warranted, child. I vow that you shall soon find your talent appreciated, not only by myself, but by all of Paris. Of course, there is still much work to be done."

Christine clasped her hands together, her face aglow. "Angel, you are too kind to me. I am only a chorus girl, though. No one shall ever give me such a chance."

There was a short silence. "Concern yourself only with taking your voice to new and expanded heights, Christine. Leave all other matters to me. Have faith in your Angel of Music."

"Yes, Angel. I do." She suddenly lowered her head and gazed around the room, as if sensing the voice was nearer than the heavens. For a second, she looked directly toward the mirror and directly at him. His breath caught in his throat. Surely, she could not know...

Within a moment, though, her eyes wandered back up to the sky, and an expression of peace formed upon her tired face. He spoke again to her, his voice softer. "I shall allow you to rest now, child, for you have much work ahead of you."

"Thank you for your praise," she replied with a dreamy smile. "Good night, Angel."

"Good night, Christine." With one last glance around the room, she gathered up her costume, blew out the gas lamp, and left. The door shut softly behind her, and he was alone again.

Every bone and muscle in his scarred body yearned to reach out and touch her, to feel the warmth of her essence against him. For several months, now, he had watched her, pretending to be an Angel of Music sent from her deceased father. In her state of despair, she had eagerly believed. He soon found that he could touch her through his unusually pleasing voice, and that she could touch him through her angelic one.

It could be no other way, he knew. To reveal himself to her would expose her to a horror that no young girl should ever have to see. The sight of his demonic visage would destroy her for life. It would haunt her every dream. With a sigh, he left the looking glass and returned to the underworld where he belonged.

His head spun as he rowed the small boat back to his underground abode. She was like a lethal sickness, slowly consuming him. For so many years, he had lived contentedly in his solitude with no need of human companionship. On the day that he had heard her reluctantly singing for the Giry child, though, everything had suddenly shattered.

Her voice, though in need of training, was the most beautiful he had ever heard. Her face was that of an angel's. He had longed for her, to tenderly hold and kiss her, and for her to love him in return. How accursed was it to make it this long without giving a damn, only to fall to pieces for one woman? He hated himself for his disgusting desperation...for his pathetic human desires. He was supposed to have been above such things!

Often he had contemplated bringing her down to his world, but what hell would that lead to? Sooner or later she would see behind the mask. He knew that he could not take the disgust in her eyes. He could not take her expression of horror and pity and loathing. He could not bring her down here.

Once in his dark home, Erik collapsed into a black armchair and placed his malformed face into his hands, letting out a long and agonized sigh. The ache inside rose up and threatened to choke him, and a nauseating misery ate at his insides. Just to touch her once! Just to have her look upon him without fear for a moment. Suddenly, he believed that if he could have just one day with her, one day of complete normalcy, he would die in peace. Yes, just to have her in his arms once would be enough to satiate his unquenchable thirst.

It was at this second that he heard it. A soft, surreal voice deep inside the depths of his distorted mind. _Would once really be enough?_ it asked. _Would that truly satisfy your desires, my friend?_

He froze for a moment. Had he finally gone completely insane? Had she finally driven him to madness? Did it really matter? He answered it. "Yes," he hissed into the dark emptiness. " I shall never ask for more."

_And you shall allow her peace? _the voice asked.

"Yes!" he hoarsely screamed. "I promise that I shall remove my demonic presence from her life! Just for one day with her in heaven."

A silence.

_Very well _it whispered. _You shall have from sunrise to sunset and no more, my friend._

Enormous exhaustion overwhelmed him, and Erik collapsed back into the leather chair. A fog of darkness overtook his mind, and he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

He awoke many hours later with a stiff back and sore shoulders from sleeping in an awkward position in the armchair. Along with Christine, his age, it seemed, was starting to get to him. Rubbing a hand over his masked face, Erik let out a groan and got up, forgetting the events of last night. He removed the mask and began to splash ice cold water upon his face, trying to clear the haziness from his mind. Suddenly, he sensed that something was somehow different.

As he ran his hands over his face, he realized that he no longer felt the bumps and scars of his mangled flesh. There were no ragged bones jutting out or disgusting lumps of skin. It was smooth flesh, soft and cool to the touch. He suddenly felt a giant protrusion in the middle of his face that had not been there before. It almost felt like a...a...No! It couldn't be.

Erik's heart drummed rapidly in his chest, and he flew to the one mirror that he kept in his entire domain. In one quick jerk, he ripped the red velvet curtain off of it and stared agape at his reflection. It could not be him! It was impossible. It was as he should have been.

His golden flecked eyes stared back from a handsome, strong-jawed face. There was not one blemish upon his entire visage, not a single crimson scar or marking. Indeed, he now had a nose, and one that perfectly fit the contours of his face. And his lips! No longer were they twisted and split but were uniform, thin lines. His dark hair was not sparse and wispy but covered his entire skull. He let out a gasp and stepped backward, wondering if he was in some perverse dream. The floor spun around, and the shadows seemed to close in around him. He crouched to the floor to compose himself and to try to make sense of what he was seeing. Then the words of the night before echoed in his head.

_You shall have from sunrise to sunset and no more, my friend._

So this was it then? This strange gift? Whether it was given to him by the hells or the heavens, he did not know. But somehow, it was real. Getting up, he flew to check the clock upon the mantle in the sitting room. It was six in the morning. He exhaled, still not sure if this wasn't a dream. If it truly was not, then he had not missed much time since sunrise. Only one thought pervaded his entire mind, and that was finding Christine. Feeling as though he were floating in a fog, he readied himself to go aboveground.

Placing on his best formal suit, he took great care with his appearance. Out of habit, he reached for his mask before slowly setting it back down. Quickly he ran his hands over his face to make sure that he had not imagined everything. The smooth flesh remained. The nose remained. He let out a sigh of relief.

For one day and one day alone, he would go above ground without that piece of white porcelain. For one day, he would be as a normal man with his Angel. He hurried in his preparation, for every single second had now become precious. Every second was another second away from her. And there were so very few seconds left...


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to those who reviewed! Like I said, this was purely just a random idea that I felt like doing. I do hope you enjoy it, though.**

Christine strode as quickly as she was able through the winding corridors of the Opera Populaire, panic contorting her young face. She silently berated herself. How could she be late again? For the third time this week, she had overslept and arrived at least ten minutes after rehearsals had begun. Madame Giry would surely scold her. Monsieur Reyer would definitely not be pleased.

Brushing her brown curls from her perspiring brow, she picked up her pace, her shoes echoing against the marble floor. She prayed that no one would notice her absence. Christine didn't know why she had been so completely exhausted lately, though her lessons with her Angel definitely had taken a great deal of energy these last few months.

Of course, it was well worth it. She smiled to herself as she thought of his captivating presence. How wonderful it was to have a being from the heavens, sent by her dear father, to guide her voice to greatness! After she had believed it to be a fairy tale for so long, the Angel of Music had finally come to her. Of all the young singers and musicians, he had chosen her! There were times it seemed so impossible that she believed it to be a dream.

Her peaceful thoughts were suddenly interrupted when she noticed a man staring at her from a corner of the corridor. Partially hidden in the shadows and dressed in elegant formal attire, the gentleman seemed to follow her with his yellow-hued eyes as she made her way down the hall. Tall and dark haired, she found him rather attractive though perhaps quite a bit older than herself. She shifted uncomfortably in his intense gaze and nodded her head in a polite brief greeting. It was rather rude of him to stare so!

He just continued to watch her, and she almost thought she saw a flicker of fear in those strange golden orbs. After an awkward moment, he nodded his head in return. Quickly, she cast her gaze to the ground and concentrated on getting to rehearsals, flying into her dressing room to change into her costume. She muttered under her breath as she worked to remove the difficult corset and undergarments, for the costume did not call for them.

As she brushed her hair back and placed on her stage make-up and jewelry, her mind drifted to her Angel again. What could he have meant when he said to leave all matters to him? Could he really give her prima donna status? The thought was rather overwhelming. Sometimes he frightened her with his words, for he seemed to hold such amazing power over the events around her. Of course, there was surely no need to be scared. He was from the heavens, sent by God and her father to help her. It was almost sinful to think bad intent of him.

Christine lingered a moment longer in her dressing room to see if he would call to her. The Angel did not, and she rushed out of the room and to rehearsals. She winced to see that the rest of the cast was already present and braced herself for a scolding from the ballet mistress. As discreetly as possible, she slunk upon the stage and stood next to Meg Giry. Her blonde friend smiled at her.

"Am I in dreadful trouble?" asked Christine, attempting to catch her breath.

Meg laughed lightly. "No, Christine. You are in luck today. La Carlotta has been complaining all morning of a sore throat, and we are starting quite late. Hopefully Maman will not even notice that you were gone."

Christine breathed a sigh of relief and smiled as the boisterous prima donna raved that conditions were much too dusty upon stage for her to sing properly. She threatened to leave if the floor was not immediately swept. The other performers and stage hands quickly rushed to her attention, used to handling Carlotta's frequent temper tantrums. Meg rolled her eyes and turned back to Christine. "Christine, I have heard an interesting rumor."

"What would that be, Meg?" asked Christine, distractedly smoothing out her costume.

"They say that the current managers may be retiring soon. It is rumored that the Opera Ghost has driven them out."

"I am rather tired of hearing about the Opera Ghost," replied Christine. "If the managers are retiring, it is because they are sick of La Carlotta." She and Meg giggled but were soon shushed as rehearsals were finally about to begin. The orchestra started, and La Carlotta began to sing the first aria, her shrill soprano voice filling the entire room.

Just as Christine positioned her arms and legs to perform the first movements of her dance, she noticed a figure standing against the wall, quite a ways from the stage. There was no doubt that his gaze was focused directly on her, and she felt her muscles tense. Wherever she moved, his eyes followed. Squinting, she recognized him as the strange man from the corridor. Who on earth was he? Some of the older and more experienced dancers like La Sorelli had admirers, but no man had ever approached Christine before. Who would notice a quiet and common chorus girl? She was not even one of the better dancers, quite far from it actually.

"Christine!" Madame Giry exclaimed harshly. "You are not concentrating, child! You have been lagging behind in every single step so far."

She blushed crimson with shame and shifted her gaze away from the figure. "Oh forgive me, Madame!" she exclaimed. "My mind is just exhausted today. I promise that I shall try harder." Madame Giry shook her head in exasperation and turned to speak to another dancer.

Truthfully, the presence of the strange man was forcing her out of step. She was flattered yet at unease at the same time, not able to peel her eyes away from him.

Needless to say, Christine was eternally grateful when rehearsals ended two hours later. Madame Giry had scolded her on three more occasions, and she was beginning to wonder if she would be removed from the upcoming opera for her carelessness. The cast muttered under their breaths as they walked off the stage, complaining over how useless the entire rehearsal had been. Carlotta had not stopped ranting once, and the orchestra had seemed to be out of tune all morning.

Quickly, Christine waved goodbye to Meg and rushed off the stage, eager to change back into her normal attire and out of the scantily clad costume. She had never gotten used to revealing her stomach and felt almost embarrassed walking down the corridor in the red and yellow slave girl outfit. As she turned the corner to get to her dressing room, a shadow suddenly stepped out in front of her. Slightly startled, she glanced up...and found herself face to face with the mysterious man of earlier. "Oh!" she let out a sharp cry of surprise.

The man flinched back for a second at her startled yelp before quickly gathering his composure again. He stood straight with his shoulders back, and she noticed that he was almost a foot taller than herself. His gaze was directly upon her, and it took her a moment to find her voice. "Pardon me, Monsieur," she murmured, beginning to find her way around him.

"Mademoiselle," he began in a slightly hoarse voice. His tone then gained confidence, and she turned back around to face him as he spoke to her. "I could not help but observe how extremely talented you were upon the stage. Truly one of the best I have witnessed in all my years."

She was startled at his voice. It was rather beautiful, almost unearthly, and...so very, very familiar. Christine blushed as she took in what he had said and looked down at the white marble floor. "Oh, Monsieur! Thank you for your kind words, but you must jest. I am no where near as good as many of the girls up there."

"No, Mademoiselle." His pitch became lower. "You are meant for much grander things. You must trust me when I tell you so."

His voice almost sounded commanding now, daring her to argue with it. She looked up at him with caution. "Thank you for your words again, Monsieur. How would you know of such things, though?" she inquired, eyeing him. "May I ask who you are?" Christine glanced around and was relieved to see that many other performers were going in and out of the dressing rooms. At least she was not alone.

He almost seemed amused by her interrogative tone, and yet...was that distant sadness in his eyes? "Forgive me. I am..." He hesitated a long moment. "I am Erik, a resident composer of the Opera Populaire. The last name is of no concern, as I wish to keep my privacy."

"I am afraid that I am not familiar with you," she gently replied. Somehow, though, she almost felt as though she did know him. That voice was so...unmistakable. It almost sounded like... No. That was ridiculous. "My name is Christine Daae," she finally stated softly when he did not ask. He seemed a gentleman of wealth by his attire, and she cautiously offered him her hand as she had seen the older girls do among aristocrats and men of fortune.

He stared at it in awe for several seconds, and she wondered if she had erred in her etiquette. Before she could draw her arm back, though, he took her small hand into his long, elegant one and slowly brought it to his lips. She watched as he closed his eyes upon making contact with her skin, holding her grasp a moment longer than necessary when he was done. "It is truly a pleasure, Mademoiselle Daae," he whispered, an unreadable expression upon his face.

Taking her hand back, Christine once again felt both flattered and at unease. His presence was captivating, and it was as if he saw right through her eyes and into her thoughts. His voice was truly mesmerizing. One could become lost within that strange timbre. Yet...she still had so little knowledge of whom he was. Slowly, she took several steps backward. "I...must go now, Monsieur," she quickly said. "I must change out of my costume." She turned and began to walk briskly away, but he called out to her again.

"Mademoiselle!" She whirled around at the voice that clearly commanded attention.

"Yes, Monsieur?" she choked out.

"I wish to ask you if you would join me for lunch after you change. We shall go wherever you prefer."

She felt a rush of uncertainty hit her. "I...am rather busy this afternoon, Monsieur. Please pardon me, but I do not know you very well."

His eyes took on such a sudden look of despair that it nearly broke her heart. Why was he so interested in her? She had never seen him before in her life! "Mademoiselle, we can go wherever you feel you are safe. I only hope to get to know you better, and I must insist that you join me."

Christine hesitated. "Please give me a moment," she finally said, darting into her dressing room. It was neither an acceptance nor a refusal. She shut the door behind her.

She had an admirer! The thought was slightly breathtaking, for she had never had a man interested in her before. A childhood sweetheart, yes, but that had been years ago. Many of the other dancers had courters and lovers, but Christine had always been shy and distant...lost in her own world of make-believe. On occasion, she would have feelings of envy toward the other girls as they walked arm in arm with their lovers. Ever since her Angel had come to her, though, she had found herself too occupied to care what the other girls did. He commanded her undivided attention.

As she changed out of her costume and into her dress, she wondered if her Angel would choose to talk to her at this moment. Perhaps he would tell her if it was acceptable or not for her to go out on a harmless luncheon date with this man. Often, her Angel was not pleased when she chose to go on outings, preferring her to focus on improving her instrument and resting in between vocal lessons.

Christine waited for several long minutes, but the voice did not come. Perhaps her Angel had decided she had worked sufficiently in these past weeks. If her Angel of Music did not care, then perhaps it would be fine to go on a short outing. He would warn her if anything were amiss, she was sure. Smiling to herself, she fixed her hair into small brown barrettes to keep it into place. Taking one last glance in the large looking glass, she quickly left the room to meet with...Erik.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again to all who reviewed! I'm so glad that this has gotten a positive response so far. I've always wanted to do something with an Erik who was not disfigured, and this is what came out of it. There will likely be two more chapters after this one, and I'll try to get them up as soon as possible. **

**Read and Review!**

He had actually touched her! Christine Daae had offered him her hand, and he had placed his lips against her soft, lavender-scented skin. She had looked on him with no disgust. Perhaps she had been a bit uncertain of him, but horror or pity did not once claim her eyes. A dizzying bliss overtook him, and the only thing that kept him grounded was the knowledge that this heaven lasted only until sunset. Each second continued to tick by, taunting him. Erik was determined to make the best of these precious moments, though. If these were the only seconds of happiness in his wretched life, he would take advantage of them.

Erik impatiently stood in the corridor with his arms folded across his chest, waiting for her to emerge and still not used to being unmasked and exposed above ground. On his right, two of the older ballerinas suddenly walked by, glanced at him, and let out quiet giggles. "Good day, Monsieur!" one called out cheerfully, batting her eyelashes a bit. He was very much taken aback by such reactions. In a way, it was depressingly amusing. If only they knew that they were acting flirtatiously toward the infamous Opera Ghost, would not they be surprised?

His grim thoughts completely vanished as she came out from her dressing room, and he could feel his breath catch in his throat. Christine looked purely exquisite, the epitome of perfection. She was adorned in a velvet lavender dress with white lace trimmings that gracefully outlined her curves. Her hair was elegantly pulled away from her face with a purple ribbon, and she had left just a tiny amount of her stage make-up on to highlight her features. She gave him a shy smile as she emerged, casting her large brown eyes down to the floor. "You look very lovely," he whispered as she approached him.

Christine blushed beautifully, obviously unused to such compliments. "Oh, you are too kind, Monsieur." She quietly cleared her throat. "There is a café directly down the street. It is small and not extremely fancy, but I enjoy going there often. Will that do?"

"That shall do fine," he murmured, still watching her. They walked in silence and at a fair distance, down the corridor and to the large front doors of the Opera Populaire. As Erik stepped outside into the cool autumn air, the bright sunlight immediately fell upon him. He squinted and momentarily paused, for it had been a very long time since he had come outside in broad daylight. Not since his days in Persia had he felt the rays fall upon his naked face, illuminating it for all to see. Darkness had been his only companion for quite some time.

Christine stared at him curiously as he stood there.

"Are you feeling well, Monsieur?" she asked with mild concern.

"Yes, I am fine," he replied curtly. "Let us continue." Christine nodded, and she and Erik continued to walk down the circular drive of the Opera Populaire and into the city. Many people were out that afternoon, and the cobblestone streets were rather crowded with shoppers and vendors. It gave him an extremely odd sensation to pass by people without curious upward glances or suspicious sneers. He had to take care with his expressions as well for, without his mask, they were quite visible. No doubt he had offended someone with a habitual glare or a smirk, and he did not want to draw unwanted attention to Christine.

After several minutes, she spoke again, and he immediately diverted his attention back to her sweet voice.

"You say that you are a composer, Monsieur? What music have you written?"

He cursed himself for not having planned this out better. "I compose many different pieces," he replied. "They are of various natures but likely nothing that you have heard." He paused. "I am also working on an opera at the moment."

"Oh! That surely must be exciting! What is it about?" Christine was acting more relaxed in his presence now, a friendly smile forming across her face.

"It is called _Don Juan Triumphant_, and it is of a complicated nature. I daresay that it will never be performed."

"Well, perhaps it will be someday," she replied reassuringly. "I am sure that it is a lovely opera." She glanced up. "Oh! Here is the café! I hope that it is not too busy today. Sometimes Meg and I cannot even find a table." He was somewhat grateful to get away from the subject of his opera, for it was certainly not a topic meant for her innocent ears. All of his terrible frustration was vented into the chords of it, and the music was far from what one would consider pleasing.

They walked up to the small stone building and entered the dimly lit café. The smell of freshly baked breads hung in the air, and the rich aroma of various coffees and teas immediately greeted them. A small crowd of people had already formed for lunch, and a quiet din filled the room as people conversed among themselves and ordered their food. No one gave the couple a second glance.

Two well-dressed young men, very near the age of Christine, stood directly in front of them, searching for an empty table. Jokingly, one gave the other a slight shove backward. The other pushed back with more aggression, causing the original perpetrator to run into Christine. "Oh!" she exclaimed as she was jolted back a bit.

The young man whirled around to apologize and was met with two angry yellow eyes. "Watch where you are going, boy!" snapped Erik, taking a dangerous step forward.

"I am sorry, Monsieur," said the boy sheepishly, shrinking back. "It was an accident."

"It is all right, Monsieur...Erik," Christine cut in, obviously surprised by his fury. "He did not hurt me." Erik cooled down, realizing that his quick temper could indeed pose a threat to his day of bliss. As her Angel of Music, he had frightened her on several occasions with a loud scolding, only to despise himself later as he watched the tears fall from her eyes. She had accepted it then as discipline from her Angel, but she would not likely accept similar behavior from a man she had just met.

They took a seat at a small round table near the front window. Truthfully, Erik was not hungry in the least, and his stomach felt as though it were clenched into a tight knot. It was his primary concern to just get as close to her and to spend as much time with her as possible. As she seemed to feel safe in the little restaurant, he had eagerly agreed to go there.

"They do have good sandwiches here," she commented, glancing up. "The soup can sometimes be cold, though. I hope you do not find the food terribly plain."

"No, I am sure that I will not," he replied, watching her as she scanned over the different options.

"How long have you been working for the Opera Populaire?" she asked, finally closing her menu and laying it upon the table. She shifted in his unyielding gaze and folded her hands into her lap.

"I have been...employed for over a decade now," he replied, not meeting her eyes. He did not tell her that by employed, he meant extorting the management every month.

"How strange that I have never seen or heard of you!"

"I am a very private man. There are very few who know of me, and I prefer to keep it that way."

"Oh, I see." Her eyes wandered to the floor, and she pursed her rosy lips. "May I ask how you took notice of me?"

He paused. "I have always noticed you, Christine. You are truly talented. Forgive me for saying so, but how could anyone not notice you?"

She blushed for the third time that day. "Monsieur. I really do not know what to say to such flattery. Surely you are able to find many women more talented than myself. I do thank you again for your kind words, though."

He said nothing in return, just continuing to watch her every delicate move. What he would not give to touch her again without frightening her away. If she acted this nervously around him as a seemingly handsome man, he shuddered to think of what she would do if she ever encountered his monstrosity. He could practically hear her shrill screams and see her mouth contort in terror as she looked upon his hideous face.

In the end, they each ordered a ham sandwich on white bread and a glass of tea. When it was placed in front of them, Christine immediately picked hers up and began to eat, nearly famished after the strenuous dress rehearsals. She looked up after several bites to see that he had not touched his. He was merely watching her as she ate. "Do you not like it?" she inquired after swallowing. "Sometimes the bread can be a bit stale. We could ask for another one."

"I am simply not hungry at the moment, Mademoiselle."

She put her sandwich down and narrowed her eyes at him. "Then why did you ask me to lunch?"

Damn! He certainly didn't need his face to scare her away!

"Forgive me, Christine. I simply wished to get to know you better and thought that you would feel secure in a public atmosphere. Please believe me when I tell you that I mean you no harm."

"Monsieur," she began, nervously. " Have...have you been watching me? You act as if you know me so well."

He almost choked. What if she were to run away? He had to fix this now or else risk completely wasting the most precious hours of his life. "I am a frequent attendee of the operas that are shown. So, yes, I have been watching you upon the stage, Christine."

"Forgive my accusation," she said with shame, running a hand through her curls. "It is rather odd, but I almost feel as if I know you from somewhere. Your voice seems familiar somehow."

* * *

Christine's thoughts were completely conflicted throughout their entire visit to the café. A part of her was deeply troubled that this stranger had taken such an interest in her. How could he care so much for her when he had never met her? Not that she wasn't pleased by the attention, but it was still rather odd to be praised so profusely by someone she did not know. 

At the same time, she felt strangely close to this man. A light shown in his haunting eyes whenever he looked at her, and his enchanting voice carried a deep longing in it whenever he spoke to her. Though it did seem that he had a hidden temper, something told her that he had no intentions of bringing harm to her. She definitely felt protected around him.

Nevertheless, she soon found herself to be no longer hungry. The café was becoming more and more crowded by the minute, making it difficult for them to talk to one another. Christine got the feeling that he greatly disliked a large number of people around, and frankly she was not fond of crowds either.

"Monsieur," she began. "Perhaps I do not have much of an appetite, either. We could take a walk around the city, if you would like. Though...I must stay close to the Opera Populaire as I have afternoon rehearsals."

Christine was shocked by just how much his eyes lit up at her simple suggestion. Surely he could have gone on strolls with hundreds of woman had he wanted to. Certainly he was not lacking for looks or wealth.

"I would enjoy that very much, Christine." He addressed her by her first name often now, and she decided to allow him the freedom. She rather enjoyed the way he said it, anyway, almost as though it were a word in a beautiful song.

Side by side, they began their walk down the busy Parisian streets. She noticed that he seemed to eye each passerby with almost suspicion, as if each were a potential enemy. In the bright light, his skin appeared pale and untouched by the rays of the sun. Erik had not been lying when he had said he was a private man. Rather, it almost seemed as if he had not been in public in quite some time.

She looked in the display windows of each store at the products, mindlessly commenting on the various fashions as she often did with Meg when they went out together. He took in each word that she said as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever heard, never taking his eyes off of her for a moment and adding his own comments when it was appropriate.

"Oh look!" she exclaimed, touching his arm. "Is not that a lovely wedding gown?"

"It is indeed," he replied glancing at it. She swore that she could feel him tremble beneath her hand when she very lightly took his arm to lead him to the window. She stared at the white gown for a long moment, admiring the sparkling sequins and long lace veil.

"If I am to ever get married," she began with a smile. "I shall have a dress like that." He said nothing, and she looked up at him. There was a look of sickness on his face and a haunted look within his yellow eyes.

"Monsieur, are you ill?" she asked with concern.

"No!" he replied sharply. She drew her arm back at his rigid voice. Taking a breath, Erik softened his tone. "I am fine. Do not concern yourself with my health."

Christine sighed in confusion and began to walk forward. Within a moment, he was beside her again, and he very slightly offered her his arm. She smiled and took it without much thought, feeling him relax beneath her grasp.

A peace fell over her as she walked down the sunlit streets, arm in arm with the familiar stranger. In the back of her mind, she deeply sensed that there was more to everything than met the eye, but, for now, Christine just concentrated on the present moment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to those who are reviewing! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. Either one or two more chapters after this...it's looking more like two now. This chapter came out kind of fluffy, but...the entire story has that underlying angst to balance it out. Hopefully it's not too sickly sweet... :)**

**Read and Review!**

For a short moment, Christine Daae allowed her girlish daydreams to take over as she walked down the Parisian streets with her companion. She wondered how she appeared strolling arm in arm with this tall, handsome gentleman. Were other women perhaps eyeing her with envy as she sometimes did other couples? In the shop windows, she caught sight of their reflections and smiled to herself for a second. Though he was taller and much older than she, they did look rather nice together with their dark hair and pale complexions, especially dressed as elegantly as they were.

She enjoyed the feeling of his arm beneath her hand and the close proximity that they now shared. Though Erik was rather distant, she felt very safe with him, and she now understood why other women's faces seemed aglow when they walked with their beaus. His interest in her and the deep longing in his eyes, though, were still a mystery to her. Had he really just taken a fondness to her upon seeing her perform, or was there more to it? Before she felt secure, she would need to know the answer to these questions.

A silence lingered between them before she chose to make idle conversation again. "I am glad we have had such nice weather today. It seems to have been raining nonstop these last few weeks." She smiled up at him, and he just gazed back down.

"Yes," Erik finally replied. "I suppose one would consider it a nice day." He said it almost as if he himself disagreed with the statement. There was a short silence before he turned to face her. Her hand slowly slid off his arm, and she stared up at him. "Christine, is there anywhere else I could take you today. Anywhere of your liking?"

"I..." Suddenly, though, she remembered afternoon rehearsals. Glancing at a clock inside one of the stores, she winced as she saw that she only had twenty minutes left to get to the Opera Populaire. "Oh Monsieur!" she exclaimed. "I must get back to rehearsals. They begin at one-thirty!"

His expression contorted into one of dismay. "You cannot miss them this once?" he asked quietly. "Surely you are prepared enough."

"I am afraid not," she softly replied. "_Hannibal_ begins in one week, and I do not feel ready at all. Even if I did feel prepared, Madame Giry will be furious if I do not show up."

"How long do they last?"

"For two long hours," she replied with a sigh. "Then I shall be done for the day."

"Christine..." His strange voice almost took on a hypnotic quality. "What if I told you that no trouble would come to you should you miss rehearsals today? You shall not be reprimanded nor shall you suffer in your performance." She looked up into his eyes and almost became lost within their faint glow, wanting to believe his words even though she had no reason to do so. Quickly she tore herself from them and stepped backward.

"No, Monsieur," she replied kindly but sternly. "I must go to my rehearsals. You are welcome to escort me, or I shall go alone." Christine saw what was almost anger pass over his face, and she wondered if he would attempt to force her to come with him. With a deep intake of breath, though, he drew back.

"Very well, then," he replied. "I shall escort you back to the Opera Populaire; however, I would like to meet with you afterward. I would like to take you to supper."

"Oh, Monsieur! I am always so completely exhausted after rehearsals. I shall be no fun at all to dine with. Perhaps tomorrow we could get together. I do not have anything planned, and I..."

"Christine that shall not be possible," he interrupted her abruptly, a haunted look once again entering his eyes. "After today, I am leaving for quite some time."

A strange forlorn feeling washed over her. Why had he chosen to come to her if only to leave the next day? Truthfully, it was not in her nature to become close to people. The only entities she had allowed into her life since the death of her father were Meg Giry and her beloved Angel of Music. Yet...she felt close to this man somehow, though she could not explain why. "That is fine, then," she replied. "You may meet with me after rehearsals." She paused. "Where are you going after today?"

A very long silence.

"Just...away, Christine. No place of any concern."

* * *

Erik took a seat toward the middle of the room and watched as she climbed upon the stage in her costume with the other performers. It had always made him cringe to see her dance around in the scanty outfit as a chorus girl, and it had been his intent for quite some time to get her the lead role in the upcoming opera. Should everything go as planned, these rehearsals would really make no difference. To directly reveal that to her, though, would have made her suspicious. To force her to stay with him and miss rehearsals would have made her afraid and distrustful. On that day, he desired her to want his companionship only by her own free will. 

Walking down the street with her upon his arm had truly been another piece of heaven. Her chocolate eyes sparkled when she talked to him in her divine voice, and her smile was one that would have made any angel jealous. He could practically feel the encompassing warmth emanating from her body and spirit the entire time.

From his plush seat, he watched with disdain as the current prima donna, La Carlotta, yelled at the other girls and complained nonstop about every small matter. He had never liked the eccentric woman in the least. Not only was Carlotta loud and arrogant, but she could not have sung a note to save her life. He had believed that all of Paris had gone deaf on the day that she was made the lead soprano.

"Move, little girl!" she shouted at Christine in her thick Spanish accent. "Everyone is in my way today! I swear that I cannot get a single thing done right!" Monsieur Reyer, the conductor, quickly worked to console her before she walked off the stage again. Erik just waited impatiently for this nightmare of a rehearsal to be over. His only solace was watching Christine continue to make the best of things, smiling and performing to the greatest of her ability. Every so often, she would cast a quick glance in his direction, and his heart would seem to stop. For so long he had watched her from the dark depths of box five, and she had been completely oblivious to his presence.

Fifteen minutes early, Monsieur Reyer finally announced rehearsals to be over, waving his hands in the air in frustration as the performers filtered out of the room. Erik got up with a sigh and discreetly approached the stage, suddenly realizing that he had never been down there before. He had always watched from high above and within the shadows. Christine stepped down to meet him looking fairly exhausted, but her way was immediately blocked by Carlotta. Erik stood still in his steps, watching as the ornately decorated woman sauntered up to him. "And who might you be, Monsieur?" she asked somewhat flirtatiously and giving him a large smile. "An admirer, perhaps? Or that new patron who is rumored to be joining us soon?"

Erik stared at her rather coldly. "He is a composer!" chimed in Christine from behind. "A resident composer for the opera house."

"Did I ask you, girl?" the prima donna snapped. She smiled again and held out her hand for Erik to kiss. "Well, it is certainly a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur." He just stared at the ringed fingers with disdain before looking behind her and to Christine.

"Come, Christine," he said curtly. "I shall walk you to your dressing room so that you will be able to change."

Carlotta's eyes flared. "A gentleman takes a lady's hand when he is offered it," she hissed. "And you talk to this common chorus girl, instead? I shall have you fired, whomever you are!"

"I am no gentleman. Do as you wish," he replied tonelessly, firmly guiding Christine out of the room.

Christine's eyes lit up with shock, and she gave him a half-surprised and half-grateful look. "Oh! I cannot believe you treated Madame Carlotta as so! She will be furious for days!"

"Indeed."

"But are not you afraid of losing your job here? She has quite an influence with the management!"

He just gave her the vaguest hint of a smile. "Trust me, Christine, when I tell you that her future actions do not concern me in the least." She glanced back once more and gave him an odd look but said nothing else of the incident, telling him she would be out of her dressing room within several minutes.

When she once again emerged, smiling and wearing the lavender and white-laced dress, it took every ounce of his restraint to keep from grabbing her and pulling her against him. In this single day, he had already had more physical contact with a woman than he had ever had in his life, and a part of him was sure that this day would be his only chance. Yet, he did not want to alarm her in any way. He wanted that beautiful smile to stay plastered upon her face, devoid of regret or insecurity.

"Where shall we go?" she asked kindly, continuing her walk down the hall. "There are several lovely restaurants farther into the city; however, we shall need a carriage to get there. I fear that the whole trip would be rather expensive."

"Money is in no way an issue, Christine. If you are willing to journey with me in a carriage, then I would be more than pleased to take you where you wish." He checked the clock and saw that they had three to four hours before sunset. Surely that would give them enough time.

"That...would be fine, then," she replied, taking up his arm again.

He paid well for a cab and helped her into the dark, velvet interior, a calmness coming over him at finding at least momentary isolation. It was shadowed and cool inside with the curtains drawn, and he felt his heart calm down as he took a seat across from her. He admired her in the dim light for a moment, her hands folded neatly in her lap and a thoughtful look upon her face. For an unholy second, he allowed himself to wonder what she would look like in his underground world of darkness.

Christine spoke. "It is nice to be able to sit down again. Rehearsals are going to be the end of me, I fear."

"Do you enjoy dancing?" he inquired, already knowing where her heart lay.

"It is...really an honor to be able to be on stage at all," she slowly replied. "But...oh, you shall think I am silly if I tell you."

"I could never think that, Christine," he replied, leaning forward and looking directly at her. A faraway look came into her eye, and she let her guard down a bit.

"It has always been a dream of mine to sing. Since I was a little girl I have wanted to be a prima donna, probably because my father always said that I would be one." She sighed and came back to the present. "Anyhow, I am grateful for what I do have." There was a short silence, as if she was considering asking him something. "Monsieur," she finally began somewhat hesitantly. "You have...a very lovely voice, and I could not help but wonder if you sing in addition to composing."

"I am flattered, Christine. And yes, I do sing on occasion." Her eyes lit up.

"It must sound marvelous."

He did not deny this.

* * *

As he helped her out of the carriage and they went to dinner, Christine could not but help be enthralled. Once they had been alone and out of the public's eye, she had seen more deeply into her companion. Every word he spoke was beautiful and mysterious, and he seemed to have a great deal of knowledge about the world. When she had commented on an ornate silk garment, he had told her of its Persian origin. When they talked of music or the affairs of the Opera Populaire, he knew every detail...knew the notes and dynamics of every musical composition and opera ever performed. Even when passing by random buildings within the carriage, he made interesting comments on the different styles of architecture.

There was a dark edge about him in his reserved tone and occasional cynicism, particularly when they were out in public. When she had commented on the landscaping of one of the city's parks, he had bluntly told her that it was artificial and dull...merely there for the pleasure of the aristocrats. Around other people, he continued to be rigid and edgy. Alone, though, he was simply amazing, and a passion seemed to burn within him in her presence. Her heart was pounding as she walked down the street and toward their destination.

The formal restaurant was lit up with candles even though it was still several hours before sunset. Made primarily of dark wood and with the curtains drawn, the restaurant had a cozy atmosphere about it and served various dishes of meat and fish. Only a few other people occupied it, mainly just couples quietly conversing over dinner. Erik seemed more at ease than he had in the café at lunch.

"Erik," she began, after they had ordered. He looked up with mild surprise at her use of his first name. "May I ask when you plan to come back from wherever you are going? It seems a pity to have just met you now."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and she wondered if he had even heard her. Finally, he spoke. "I shall not be returning, Christine."

She felt her heart sink slightly. "But...why on earth not? Is someone in your family ill? Have you been offered another job composing?" She blushed furiously at her silly curiosity. She had no right to question his private affairs, and she knew it. What he must think of her brazenness!

Her delicate hand lay on the table next to the bread basket. In the dim candlelight at the table, she watched as he slowly picked it up into his own. Christine made no move to stop his actions. "Do you wish me to stay?" he asked her softly, looking her directly into the eye.

"Well...I..." she stuttered a moment. "It is just that I have only gotten to know you today. So...it would be nice if you were to not be off so quickly, Monsieur." She paused. "Yes, I wish you to stay."

"Oh, Christine," he sighed, letting her hand go. "It is divine to hear you say such things. If only you knew _what _you were saying."

Confusion marred her brown eyes, and she glanced down at the table for a moment. She looked up again. She spoke with firmness. "Monsieur, please tell me who you really are."

The clock chimed five times. Approximately two hours remained before sunset.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi all! Thanks for the reviews! One of you guessed where this story was partially heading, and all I can do is promise you that it was already part of my plot before you reviewed. Lol. **

**Secondly, this is not the last chapter. There is one more. **

**Please read and review!**

The sky grew darker and the air grew cooler as the autumn evening began to set in. Several more couples entered the little restaurant, the sounds of quiet conversation and silverware clinking against plates beginning to fill the cozy atmosphere. Most were out for a relaxing evening with their beloved, content to enjoy a pleasant meal after a tiresome day. Occasionally someone laughed lightly, or a younger pair exchanged a quick kiss behind their menus.

Only one table held a quiet and mysterious tension, as the young brunette focused her eyes upon her older companion, her question hanging unanswered in the air. Christine watched as Erik shifted in her gaze, his eyes downcast to the table. She observed him clench and unclench his fists and wondered what thoughts occupied his mind. Finally, he looked up at her.

"As I have told you, Christine, I am a composer."

It was not that she thought the words were untrue. Rather...they were not the entire truth. She could sense this, now, a powerful feeling of recognition inside her subconsciousness. "Erik," she repeated, fully meeting his gaze. "Please tell me who you are. I feel as if I have known you for more than a day. I _know_ that I have known you for more than a day. Tell me who you are."

Another silence passed, and there was such a distantly forlorn look in his eyes that she almost regretted asking. "I shall tell you before I leave tonight, Christine. That is all I will offer you."

His tone was firm, and she knew that she would get no more information from him at that time. She did, however, at least know that there was more to him than what appeared on the surface. Their meal soon came, and they ate in silence for several minutes. Though Erik took several bites of his food this time, he still did not appear to be hungry. Once again, neither was she. A thick knot had formed in the middle of her stomach, making the expensive food taste heavy and bland.

Setting her fork down with a dull clink, she removed her napkin from her lap and looked up. "Erik, if we have so little time together, then let us not waste it sitting here. Let's go outside."

"Whatever you wish, Christine," he replied with a hint of relief. Erik left enough money on the table for the uneaten meal, and they strode outside into the dimming evening air.

They continued their slow walk down the narrow dirt road, the sun taking on a reddish-orange glow as it went about its steady descent. A cool fall breeze rustled the trees, gently swaying the branches and knocking the brightly colored leaves to the ground. Every now and then, a carriage trotted up the street with a friendly wave from the driver, or a couple walked by hand in hand through the tranquil atmosphere. Shadows continued to lengthen as the sky darkened.

Christine felt both peaceful and uneasy at the same time. Though the setting was beautiful and she no longer feared her companion, a feeling of something to come seemed to twist at her mind and heart. She shivered slightly in the autumn air and walked more closely toward Erik for warmth. To her dismay, not much heat seemed to radiate from his tall form. Taking his hand, she found that it had grown colder than she last remembered it. Still she grasped onto it, though, as they continued their stroll with no set destination.

Finally they came to a small public park and walked up curiously to a stone fountain in the shape of a little cherub. The water softly gurgled in the circular pool, gently splashing against the sides. Christine looked down at their reflections from above and noticed that Erik was staring intensely at them, too. They looked elegant together, but their faces held vague expressions of concern and their eyes held hidden secrets. She slowly placed her hand into the cool liquid and randomly moved it about, thereby distorting the images into blurred, misshapen fragments. Her other hand was jerked as Erik suddenly pulled back, and she looked up at him with curiosity.

"It is time to return," he simply stated, guiding her back in the opposite direction. "It is getting dark out."

Erik led her back to the road and found a cab. She suddenly noticed that he was squeezing her hand tighter and had a tense look upon his face as he climbed into the carriage. Attempting to lighten the ever-darkening mood, Christine began to make idle conversation. "I adore autumn evenings," she began cautiously. "It is too bad that the days are getting shorter."

"Yes," he replied distractedly, drawing back the carriage curtain and gazing out the window.

"Many say that we are to have a terrible winter this year. Of course, the almanacs are often wrong, but I suppose we should prepare anyhow."

He did not even reply this time, staring forward intensely. Whenever the carriage would pause or begin to slow down, his jaw would suddenly clench tightly and a look of fury would cross his eyes. "Are you well, Erik?" she asked, tilting her head. "You look rather strangely."

Erik turned toward her and reached across for her hand again, as if finally realizing that his behavior was disturbing her. "Yes, Christine. I am fine. I just wish to be home before it becomes too dark. That is all."

"I am sure that we will be," she replied consolingly. "We still have over an hour. Of course, a little darkness never hurt anyone."

"No, I suppose it did not," he murmured. Christine became silent then, leaning her head against the side of the carriage for several minutes in deep thought. More than ever, she was sure that she somehow knew this man, and it bothered her to see him in such distress. The carriage trotted onward and into the busier parts of the city. It stopped after about ten more minutes, and she looked out the window to see that they were in front of the Opera Populaire, bathed in the shadows of the enormous stone building. The driver opened the door.

"Why on earth are we here?" Christine asked as she climbed out behind Erik and watched as the cab traveled away. "Wouldn't it have been more appropriate to take me to my flat and then go to your house? Now we shall each have to find another cab."

Erik was silent for a moment, and she could not see his expression in the little light that remained. "I have matters to attend to inside, Christine, before I leave." He paused and glanced toward the west. "If you wish, you may accompany me for a short time."

"Of course," she replied. "You still have yet to reveal to me who you are." She took up his arm again, and he led her through the unlocked doors of the Opera Populaire. Several maids and stage hands still lingered about, tidying up for the day. No one paid the well-dressed couple any attention, accepting them as wealthy tourists or patrons looking over their venture.

Without a word, he rapidly took her through the winding corridors, and she could feel her breath quicken from the fast pace they were moving at. Finally, he stopped several yards away from the familiar white door of her dressing room and just stood there motionlessly for a moment. She looked at him with curiosity, noticing that something seemed different about him. It was too subtle to place her finger on but was definitely there. With thirty minutes left before sunset, she repeated her earlier question.

"Erik, who are you?"

* * *

He knew that he should have left her at the front of the Opera Populaire with a cab to take her home and a final goodbye. Every forward ticking second was now a huge risk with the sun so dangerously close to the horizon. But...he wanted to be with her until the very end. He had to be with her until the last possible moment. 

The rest of the evening had been heavenly, even if each passing minute seemed to eat away at his heart. When he had spoken, she had looked at him with such interest, giving him simple touches and always smiling with her face aglow. No one had ever gazed at him in such a way before. If only she could look at him the same once she saw who he truly was. But such thoughts were insane and irrational! Once she saw, her expression would mimic that of everyone else's. Horror and disgust, at best pity, would be plastered upon her face as she quickly drew away from him.

The entire affair was slowly killing him, and now he had to find a way to disappear so that she could go on with her life with no questions. Why did she have to stare at him with such curiosity? Why did she have to ask his true identity? His heart was racing with panic and despair in these last minutes, and he could practically feel the flesh on his face beginning to dissipate. He had to think quickly!

She would not be satisfied until he told her that they had indeed met before. In her subconscious, she knew for a fact that this was not their first day together. What to tell her so that she would never journey after him? What to tell her to make this one of the best days of her life rather than one of her most terrifying nightmares?

In his lifetime, Erik had built some of the most magnificent palaces ever to be seen by mankind. He had composed melodies with chord combinations never heard before and had designed contraptions that would not be seen for decades to come. As a magician, he could make solid objects disappear from plain view and perform such stunning illusions that even the most practical man would believe them to be works of sorcery.

On this particular evening, though, Erik created his most amazing work of all. He devised the most beautiful lie to ever grace a young girl's ears.

And yet...it was the truth as well.

"Erik?" she said again, gazing up at him with those soft brown eyes.

"Christine," he quietly began, turning to face her. "Though you may find this difficult to believe, I am your Angel of Music. For one day and one day only, I was permitted by the heavens to come to earth in the body of a man. You are correct when you say that you have known me for more than a day."

There was a short silence, and he feared for a moment that the story was too extravagant for even her naive ears to believe.

"My Angel," she murmured in quiet awe. With relief, he could see within her brown orbs that she truly trusted him, was slowly matching his voice and the voice of her Angel's together. "Yes," she whispered. "You are he, aren't you?" Her red lips quivered, and her eyes became slightly glazed over. For a second, he feared that she would faint.

"Are you well, Christine? I did not wish to upset you. I realize that it seems like an impossibility."

"Yes...yes," she replied, some clarity entering her eyes. "It is just...so difficult to take in, but I have known your voice all along, I believe. I have sensed it."

A peaceful look lay on Christine's flushed face, and he attempted to mimic the expression. Should she see the mortal fear and desperation in his eyes, her conviction that he was a being of the heavens would begin to fade.

"You have done so much for me, Erik...Angel," she whispered, looking down at the marble floor. "Please tell my father that I am forever grateful he has sent you."

"I shall." He felt her take his hand into her own tightly. Guilt washed over him. She thought she held the hand of a holy entity when instead she held one of a grotesque monster. But it did not matter. In several minutes it would end, and he would haunt her no longer.

"After tonight," she began, looking up at him. "You will continue to teach me, right? I will continue to hear your voice?"

"No, Christine. I am afraid that is not possible. Tonight is the last time you shall hear from me." It had to be this way, he knew. Were he to stay around her any longer, he would not be able to keep away from her. He would make her miserable in his yearning, only this time he would expose her to his hideous visage as well.

The look of despair on her face nearly killed him, nearly made him whisk her away to a dark place where she would only be his forever.

"Oh no!" she gasped out. "You cannot leave me alone. I need you to teach me to sing. I promise that I will devote myself to my music and nothing else. Please, Erik."

"Christine, you have surpassed all expectations in your ability. I vow to you that all of Paris will bear witness to your voice and stand for you in great applause. You are no longer in need of me, child. Do not ask anymore." His tone was cold and firm, and he knew that she would not question such harsh words from her Angel of Music.

Erik saw a tear fall from her eye as she gazed down at the ground. From somewhere deep within his mind, he could hear the ethereal voice warn that only fifteen minutes remained. It was enough time to give Christine Daae a final gift. Very gently, he sang a soft melody with his entrancing voice. It was a foreign song from long ago that he had once heard in his childhood, soothing and lulling. She closed her eyes and swayed to it a moment, letting herself be taken in by its splendor.

Truth be told, he had written another song for her some time ago...a haunting lullaby that told of the beauty in the darkness and the night's ability to transform music into its purest form. He would not sing that to her now, though. It would place a permanent imprint on her mind, and he wanted to leave her without any eerie memories or sinful longings.

That was why he chose to only sing this beautiful yet innocent song. Simply his voice, though, was enough to bring her nearer to him. She was standing just inches away, and he could feel her warmth being drawn in by his chilled skin. A look of euphoria lay on her face as the melody ended.

She gazed at him for a long moment. "That was truly and utterly beautiful," she said softly. "Your voice truly is that of an Angel's." Her hands shaking, she found herself reaching out to gently touch his smooth face with her slender fingers. Closing her eyes, Christine leaned in and laid a soft kiss upon his left cheek. It was so fast and stunning that it took him a moment to comprehend what had occurred.

He watched her eyes widen as she brightly blushed. "Was that wrong?" she whispered. "Is it wrong to kiss an Angel?"

"No," he finally choked out. "I do not think so, Christine." The tingling sensation of her warm lips lingered on his flesh, his first kiss. She nodded and continued to look up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

A single tear fell down his own cheek, and he found himself slowly leaning in to kiss her sweet lips. Christine tilted her head up in response and closed her eyes, parting her mouth just slightly in anticipation.

_It is now time, my friend._

Rapidly he drew his head back with a sharp gasp, and she opened her eyes and looked up in surprise.

"I shall watch you from above, Christine," he managed to say as he turned away and headed for the familiar shadows.

"Erik!" she cried out to his dark form. Her eyes were blurry from tears, and she quickly rubbed them away so that she could see more clearly. By the time she had focused again, though, Erik was gone.

He had ascended back into the heavens, leaving the door to her dressing room just slightly ajar.


	6. After the Light

**Here's my final chapter! I've gotten some really wonderful reviews on this, and I'd like to thank everyone for reading it. A lot of you may not like this ending, and I do respect that. There was certainly no way to please everyone with all the different opinions, though, so I just have to go with my own feelings. Hope everyone enjoyed the story anyhow!**

**In some ways, it's better to think of chapter 6 as its own separate piece because we're done with the one day in the light. Hence...I gave it a title...and it's also a bit longer...**

**Read and Review!**

_One week later..._

Christine stared at her reflection in the dressing table mirror for several minutes, her brown curls freshly washed and combed, and her cheeks still flushed with the excitement of the evening. She was adorned in a white lace costume gown that matched her porcelain skin with dangling golden earrings that sparkled in the dim lamplight. Every part of her tingled with excitement, and a euphoria raced through her veins. Her Angel of Music had not lied. Paris had watched her in all of her glory, standing up in uproarious applause at the end.

That evening, the opening night of _Hannibal_, she had replaced La Carlotta as leading soprano after a stage mishap at rehearsals had caused the prima donna to walk away in a fury. Though timid at first, Christine's confidence had slowly built up during her performance, and she had truly sung her heart out that night. Her voice had lifted up throughout the Opera Populaire and into the heavens. Though the applause and attention had been truly exhilarating, she had sung solely for her Angel. With all of her heart, she hoped that he was proud of her.

Just as promised, Erik had not spoken to her since that amazing night one week ago. During a moment of tearful desperation, she had even called out to him once, only to be greeted with painful silence. He had truly left her alone, perhaps giving her the gift of tonight before he had departed.

How she missed his beautiful voice, though! And, now that she was familiar with it, she even missed his mortal touch. The whole affair of that day had been so completely incomprehensible that she sometimes wondered if it was a wonderful dream. Though it seemed almost sinful to long for him so, she could not help but think over those last moments with great nostalgia. She felt almost as she did when her father had left her, and only time, she knew, would heal such pain.

"Little Lotte let her mind wander..."

She was interrupted from her thoughts as her dressing room door opened, and a young man's voice came from behind her. "Raoul!" she exclaimed with a small smile, suddenly remembering that he was the new patron of the Opera Populaire. He had been a close friend of hers from childhood, and they had shared many good memories together before the death of her father. Christine turned around to face him. He continued to sing the familiar nursery rhyme that her papa had often sung to put her to sleep at night.

Christine softly finished the tune with a faraway look in her eyes. "No- What I love best, Lotte said, is when I'm asleep in my bed, And the Angel of Music sings songs in my head...The Angel of Music sings songs in my head.'"

"You sang like an Angel tonight, Christine," Raoul said, coming up and embracing her shoulders.

A peaceful look settled over her face. "Oh, Raoul!" she exclaimed. "I truly have been visited by the Angel of Music. Father sent him to me!"

"Indeed you have," he replied with a smile and releasing her. "Shall we go to supper now?"

"Raoul, you do not understand..." her voice tapered off. She sighed. Perhaps it could not be explained to him. Perhaps it was best to not even try to explain such a miraculous thing. Christine shook her head and gently smiled up at him. "I am rather tired tonight, Raoul. It has been a long day."

"I promise that I will not keep you up late. I only wish to catch up with you, and surely you have to eat some time tonight."

She sighed and thought for a moment, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. Though a despairing feeling still lay inside of her, perhaps it would do no harm to go to dinner with her childhood friend. Her Angel no longer talked to her, and she had felt so terribly lonely lately. In many ways, Raoul was the only remaining tie to her past, and she longed for any kind of comfort that night. "Allow me to get dressed, Raoul."

His boyish face lit up. "Wonderful! I shall bring the horses around front in two minutes."

She nodded, and the Vicomte left her in the silence of the dressing room again.

Christine stood up and began to prepare for an evening out, changing out of her costume and into an elegant dress. With a sigh, she hung up the white lace gown and smoothed out her skirts, hoping that she was adorned well enough to be in the company of a Vicomte. She sauntered up to the enormous mirror upon the wall and saw that, though her face was still flushed with excitement, her eyes had dark rings of exhaustion around them. A deep melancholy feeling still lay inside of her, and she tried to convince herself that another's company would uplift her spirits. Nevertheless, two more tears fell as she turned away from her reflection. She hoped no one would notice the redness in her eyes.

As Christine was just about to leave the giant looking glass and blow out the several candles that lit the room, she felt a strange sensation overtake her, a feeling of being watched from both here on earth and from the heavens. A warmth seemed to encompass her heart at the exact same time that a chill ran through her bones. Then a soft voice touched her ear...a beautiful and familiar voice that brought fresh tears to her eyes.

_The mirror, Christine. Go to the mirror, my child._

"Father," she softly murmured. She obeyed, walking nearer to the glass and laying a spotty trail of fingerprints across it as she touched it with her warm hand. As if guided by an invisible force, she found herself bending to the floor and reaching underneath the gold metal frame. Her tiny hands blindly found a small switch, and she flicked it back in one swift motion.

Recovering her inhibitions again, Christine was shocked to see the mirror unhinge itself from the wall, and she had to dodge away as the plate of glass swung out toward her face. A cool gust of air burst into the room, and she suddenly looked up to see a dark void of space behind the wall. Hands shaking and heart pounding, she stepped toward the square hole and looked inside. Turning her head to the right, she saw nothing but endless blackness. Turning to the left, she felt her breath suddenly catch in her throat. Just inches away from her stood a tall, looming figure, completely enshrouded in the shadows.

Christine first noticed the familiar formal wear that the man wore, and her heart skipped a beat of joy as she immediately looked up into his face. Her eyes widened with confusion, though, to see that his entire profile was covered with a white porcelain mask that ran down to the area just above his chin. For a second, she almost stepped backward out of surprise and fright. Then, however, she noticed the familiar yellow eyes, glowing down at her in shock from behind the mask. A feeling of recognition overtook her, a warm sensation that flooded her entire body, and she found herself murmuring a single word. "Erik."

The second it left her lips, he turned and within an instant had disappeared into the pitch black tunnels. Without a moment's thought or a glance back, Christine plunged into the darkness after him, ignoring the sound of her dress ripping as it caught on the side of the mirror. A cool dampness surrounded her, causing her dress to cling to her body and her hair to cling to her face. She looked in both directions but saw nothing. Blindly, she ran to the left, becoming disoriented as she stumbled over the bumps and cracks that marred the stone floor. She placed her hands out in front of her and frantically began to feel around, the deep shadows making any form of navigation impossible. Finally, she tripped over her skirts and fell hopelessly to the ground, landing roughly onto her knees with a sharp sob.

Had she imagined the figure of her Angel? Where on earth was she? Panic started to overtake her as she realized that she was lost within this dark and mysterious place. Her body was sore from the impact of slamming into the ground and a wave of exhaustion quickly overtook her. As she desperately reached out her hands to feel the ground in front of her, she suddenly sensed someone near by and looked up. In the little light that there was, she could just barely make out the figure, his white masking glinting down from above her. Relief hit her until she saw that his yellow eyes were fixed in a steely glare, burning at her like hot embers in the dark.

* * *

He had watched her triumph that evening...watched as all of Paris applauded for her as she glowed upon the stage, her clear and angelic voice ringing to the highest balconies and the lowest cellars of the opera house. Beautiful did not even begin to describe how she had looked up there with the lights of the stage cast upon her in her moment of glory. Every part of him ached to crawl like a snake through the mirror and touch her, to feel her rosy lips pressed against his own as he kissed her, to feel her soft curves beneath his hands as he held her. He knew that it was dangerous to even watch her with such painful yearnings, for it took every ounce of his self-control to hold back. 

How he had seethed when that loathsome boy had uninvitedly entered her dressing room. His fists had clenched as he watched the young aristocrat place his arms around her shoulders and hold her in an embrace. Erik felt a dire need to choke the life out of the new patron, despising him for his perfect features and wretched youth. How dare he touch _his _Christine! How dare he share in _his_ moment of triumph!

In his growing insanity at the realization that she was leaving with the boy, Erik started to call out to her. Her Angel would demand that she remained in her dressing room and keep away from the disgustingly wealthy suitor. Christine would be so ecstatic to hear his divine voice again that of course she would obey. She would do whatever her Angel of Music told her to do.

Just as he opened his mouth to send his powerful voice reverberating around the dressing room, though, he heard it again and deeply cringed. The other voice.

_You said that you would allow her peace _it whispered within the depths of his mind. _You know that he is able to give her a good life._

Erik froze, and his shoulders slumped down as a deep despair shook his core.

What _did _he have to off her? A life of eternal darkness? His hideous face? The lips he would now kiss her with would be rough and twisted, and his touch cold from the dank depths of the cellar. As of now, she would remember him as she had last seen him: an Angel from the heavens whose hands were warm and soft and whose face was flawless. Erik could recall the look of love and happiness in her eyes when she had gazed upon him in those last minutes. Never would he receive such a look from her again.

She had examined her profile in the mirror for a moment, likely trying to look her best for dinner with her companion. His heart broke all over again as two tears dropped down her face, leaving damp streaks along her soft cheeks. Christine began to turn away, and he turned to head into the shadows, not able to take the agonizing torment any longer.

Then, all of a sudden, Christine paused and looked up again. A strange expression crossed her face, and her eyes were fixed upon her reflection as if she had never seen it before. She shivered.

Erik just watched, completely frozen into place, as she lifted a tiny hand to the glass and stroked her fingers over the cool surface. Then she had bent down, and a quiet click was heard before the glass plate opened to reveal him.

What had ever possessed her to turn back to that godforsaken mirror? How had she ever managed to find the damn switch! It was hidden in such a obscure place that decades had gone by without it ever being discovered. Pure and utter shock had filled him as he stood face to face with her, she in the light and he in the dark. He could not move. He could not think. Only when she uttered his name, was he finally broken from the trance.

He had tried to get away from her, had thought she would stay back at her dressing room and somehow push him from her mind as an illusion. Damn everything if she had not somehow recognized him even with the mask on. The silly child had raced after him through the dark and hazardous tunnels, nearly getting herself killed in the process. That was when he knew that he could not abandon her there and disappear into nothingness. She would continue the fruitless search until she either starved to death or fell into one of the various traps he had set up for his own protection. So desperate was she for her Angel of Music, that she was prepared to go to heaven to find him.

The only way to save her now was to completely shatter the elaborate illusion...even if it did give her nightmares in the end.

He stared down at her quivering form with a false coldness, beginning the painful process of striking fear and terror into her. Though every part of him desired to pick her tiny frame up and hold her lovingly against him, he would not allow himself such a sinful luxury. Why had she done this? Didn't she know how much misery she was causing him just by looking up at him so pitifully?

"Get up," he commanded, not making any move to offer her his ice cold hand. She did as she was told, folding her arms tightly against her chest for warmth. "Follow me."

Their footsteps echoed against the hard stone as he led her back to the entrance of the catacombs. Finding the unhinged mirror, he held it open with one hand but blocked her from entering it just yet. He had to make sure that she would never return. "Erik," he heard her softly say from behind him. "Where are we? What is going on?" She was so very innocent.

He turned his back to her. "Christine," he began through clenched teeth. "Do not ever return here. I have lied to you, child. I was not an Angel sent to abide in the body of a man, but rather a demon permitted to become mortal for one day."

"No..." he heard her start to protest.

"Yes!" he hissed. "A demon who wished to spend one day in heaven with you because he loves you, Christine! Is not that disgusting? You are loved by a monster!" He ripped the white mask from his face and turned around toward her. "Look at me!" he growled, bringing his face into the light that came from the dressing room.

"Look!" he roared, taking a step toward her. "Feast your eyes on the _thing_ that loves you!"

* * *

Christine felt her heart constrict as he quickly rounded on her, revealing what was supposed to be his face. In complete shock, she let out a sharp gasp and fell to the ground at his feet, holding her arms above herself in defense. She didn't understand! It didn't make any sense! His pure voice and his golden eyes were exactly the same, but what had so distorted his face! How could it possibly be? 

If only he would not keep shouting at her, perhaps she would be able to think. Why was he so angry with her? What had she done? Tears fell from her eyes as he continued to rage at her, his anger even more deforming his marred and twisted features. She placed her head inside of her hands to quiet the storm outside and the one inside her mind. After several more outbursts, Erik was silent, though she still sensed him standing above her.

"Get up, Christine," she heard him softly whisper. "Leave here and forget me. Never return." Keeping her gaze fixed upon the ground, she shakily stood up and obediently put one foot back into the dressing room. With a deep breath, she finally looked back up into his face. Terrible pain and longing shone in his hollowed eyes as he looked upon her while replacing the white mask onto his face. "Go," he repeated. Then Erik turned around and began a slow retreat back into the darkness.

She stood there with her right side in the dark and her left side in the light, looking back and forth between the candle lit dressing room and the walking shadow. Either way, she would be left with unanswered questions of what could have been. But...Erik? She now realized that he was not an Angel, but she knew he could not be a demon either. He had said he loved her, and demons did not love. Behind the facade of an Angel and his horribly mangled visage, he was just Erik, the fascinating man that she had spent an entire day with. Though she had missed her Angel, she knew that she had longed for the man as well.

But...so many lies and illusions had come from this man...

The dark figure became smaller until it almost was completely blended in with the blackness of the tunnels. Suddenly, she heard footsteps echoing in the corridor outside and knew that Raoul was returning, wondering where on earth she was. Her head spun with her decision. She would wonder about Raoul, she knew, but she would always pine for the mysterious and powerful presence of Erik. No matter which way she went, Erik would now haunt her.

She looked right.

She looked left.

With only seconds remaining to decide, Christine made her final choice.

Picking her left foot up, she placed it onto the dark side of the mirror and quickly closed the glass plate behind her. Heart racing and hands colds, she took off after the fading figure. Even after her footsteps had echoed all throughout the tunnels and signified her oncoming presence, Erik still did not turn around or slow his pace.

It was only when she reached out and firmly clutched his arm that he finally paused.

She watched him close his golden eyes and wondered if he would send her away again. If he did, Christine knew that she would only attempt to return. Breathing heavily and still in a state of surprise, Christine lightly leaned against him for support so that she would not fall to the hard ground. A shiver seemed to pass through his entire body at her touch.

Finally he opened his yellow eyes, and she could see utter disbelief in them for a moment. Reaching down with a shaking hand, he entwined his long fingers into hers with great caution, and she quickly gripped onto his hand.

He looked down at her for another moment, his eyes glistening with tears in the candlelight that illuminated the caverns. Finally, he moved forward with her hand in his.

Silently, he led her down the winding stone stairs, across the shimmering lake, and to the strange new world that lay just beyond the light of day.

_Fin_


End file.
